


Woods and Throne

by bl4ckm4lice, jusrecht, sweetajeng



Category: Korean Actor RPF, Super Junior
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-22
Updated: 2015-04-15
Packaged: 2018-03-18 22:23:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3586188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bl4ckm4lice/pseuds/bl4ckm4lice, https://archiveofourown.org/users/jusrecht/pseuds/jusrecht, https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetajeng/pseuds/sweetajeng
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kyuhyun's life after coronation, facing a new set of problems—and an old one. Robin Hood AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is just a silly round-robin thingy we did because so far there has been no Robin-Hood-themed fic for this pairing. Please don't take any of this seriously. And let's throw every historical fact out of the window because seriously facts what facts lol orz Best to think of this fic as set in completely fictional places which coincidentally have names like England, Scotland etc. (AND YES THERE WAS NO DUKEDOM IN ROBIN HOOD ERA BUT JUS WOULD CRY IF WE COULDN'T CALL JUNSANG "YOUR GRACE" BYE)
> 
> This fic shall feature Kyuhyun and his hyungs. His many hyungs. His abundance of hyungs. You get the point. More explanation on them at the bottom after this chapter.
> 
> OH AND HAPPY BIRTHDAY UHM KIJOON :DDD
> 
>  
> 
> Cute, gorgeous fanarts as always © [bl4ckm4lice](http://archiveofourown.org/users/bl4ckm4lice/pseuds/bl4ckm4lice).  
> 

Kim Publae had no major complaint in life.

 

At his forty years of age, he could only be described as successful, all his achievements made even more impressive by his mediocre background. While it was true that he had no immense riches, he was a trusted aide of a hard-working, benevolent (if newly-crowned) king, a ruler loved and admired by the general populace. Publae remained unmarried, but lacking in company had never been a problem in his case—and considering his full array of duties, this marital status was perhaps a blessing in disguise.

 

All in all, Publae had no reason to complain.

 

But there were times— _many_ times, in fact—when he wished that things had been a little bit easier.

 

Right now being the most recent example.

 

Kyuhyun was a king worthy of his throne. Publae could vouch for this personally, having aided the young then-prince in a rebellion against his usurper uncle. Kyuhyun had the heart and brain fit to rule—except when he chose to indulge his moods and suddenly become the most insufferable man in the continent.

 

These bouts of foul moods were not frequent, but they did occur regularly enough for Publae to detect a pattern. The usual solution he took was to send a missive (or twenty) to Sherwood Forest, begging for help from a certain outlaw who also happened to be the saviour of his king six months ago.

 

This current occasion, however, required more urgency than usual.

 

“Have you found him?” he hollered down the hall at Lee Gunmyung, who was coming from the other direction. Being the head of His Majesty’s personal guards, the other man was responsible for Kyuhyun’s safety at all times, a duty in which he had failed most spectacularly this morning.

 

“He took a horse from the royal stable,” Gunmyung replied quickly, walking past him in a hurry. “Where did he go riding that horse, is now the question.”

 

For the hundredth time that day, Publae resisted an urge to tear his hair out. He should have known from Kyuhyun’s irascible mood this morning that something like this could happen—but then again, mornings always had a less than benign effect on the young king. It had only been after the morning council (in which he had spent the better part shouting at all his advisors before leaving the audience chamber with a bang) that he escaped from his personal guards.

 

And now, five hours later, the king’s whereabouts remained unknown.

 

Publae was at his wits’ end. A delegation from a neighbouring kingdom would arrive tomorrow. He dreaded to think of the consequences once they found out about the king’s absence.

 

He was gloomily contemplating a list of possible subterfuges to confuse the delegates—alongside a list of how to achieve the most painless death, this for his benefit—when someone tapped him on the shoulder.

 

“Anyone looking at you will think that the world’s ending tomorrow.”

 

“The world is ending tomorrow if that insufferable brat– Kijoon!” A burst of hope flooded Publae’s chest at the sight of the other man. For once, he forgot to grumble about the castle’s lax security which allowed an outlaw to simply breeze in unchallenged. “Have you seen _him_?”

 

“Who?”

 

“The king!” Publae threw his hands up in exasperation. “He gave Gunmyung the slip this morning. Weren’t you with him?”

 

A frown knitted Kijoon’s brow. “No, I just arrived. How long has he been missing?”

 

“Almost six hours now and the French delegates are going to be _delighted_ to know– where are you going?”

 

But Kijoon had disappeared without another word, leaving Publae once more alone at the brink of frustration.

 

He really needed a different job.

 

 

-

 

 

For Kijoon, following Kyuhyun's trail was far from a challenge. His tracking skills aside, Kyuhyun always deliberately left a number of traces which he knew Kijoon would recognize as his, subtle enough that no one else would see but him. As if the young king wanted to be found by him and him alone.

 

Brushing his fingers against the leaves of a berry bush of a particular type that he knew favoured by Kyuhyun, he spotted the traces of some berries having been picked not too long ago, letting him know that he was right on track. But it seemed that he was closer than he expected, as his ears caught the sounds of splashing water and distant humming.

 

"Does Your Majesty require assistance to get out of the water?"

 

A small smile appeared on Kyuhyun’s face before he turned his head towards the direction of Kijoon's voice, the rest of his body still contentedly submerged in the clear lake water. "Does the mysterious stranger intend to assist from behind the tree?"

 

"So I am a stranger to Your Majesty," Kijoon said as he stepped out into the open.

 

"Sulking doesn't suit you," Kyuhyun chuckled softly and began to move towards the edge of the lake. Naked skin gradually left the water surface, glistening under the sun and looking quite ethereal. Only when Kyuhyun's navel was revealed that Kijoon tore his gaze away to fetch the clothes laid on the grass.

 

The older man carefully handed over Kyuhyun's pants first, gaze determinedly focused on the shirt he was unfurling. He only caught an accidental glimpse of the king's bare legs before the pants covered them. The shirt followed, then the rest of the attire.

 

"Thank you for your kind assistance, not-stranger."

 

"Your Majesty should return to the castle"

 

"Oh don't be a killjoy, I just got here."

 

"Publae is extremely worried. You have been gone for six hours."

 

"Publae always worries about everything. I just want to have a little bit of fresh air. Now that you're here, you'll be a perfect companion. Come, hyung, walk with me to the hilltop."

 

Kijoon hesitated for a second before he followed the young king.

 

They walked together in silence, but after a while Kijoon heard soft tunes coming from his side. Kijoon had heard Kyuhyun singing before but it always amazed him of how good his singing was. At times like this he had a hard time convincing himself that this young man with an angelic voice beside him was actually a king.

 

They reached the hilltop just as the song reached the end. At the hilltop they could see the vast kingdom with the castle in the background, illuminated by the setting sun.

 

"I miss the forest. I miss the time I spent there. I miss..."

 

"Sherwood Forest is part of your kingdom, Majesty. You can always go there."

 

"But it won't be the same as before."

 

They both stood there in silence, occupied by their own thoughts and memories.

 

"You will stay, right?" Kyuhyun suddenly broke their silence. "With me? You won't go anywhere?"

 

Kijoon turned to look at the younger man. “You don't need me anymore,” he said matter-of-factly. “Perhaps you did back then, but now you’re the king and I’m just a hunter in the woods. A nobody.”

 

“I don’t care about any of those,” Kyuhyun said, voice shaking a little.

 

“Be reasonable. What use do you have of me now?”

 

“You used to be a knight,” Kyuhyun began, but Kijoon was quick to shake his head.

 

"It was all in the past. And to be honest, I'm tired of that kind of life."

 

Kyuhyun said nothing for a long time. When he finally broke his silence once again, his voice was strangely steady, full of quiet determination. “You talked about going away the last time we met,” he began, eyes fixed on the far horizon. “Now let me say this. The moment you leave is also the moment I’m going to leave, because I’m going to look for you.”

 

A wave of mixed emotions rose in Kijoon’s chest. There were times when he forgot that Kyuhyun was only a child, not yet twenty, with the heavy mantle of a king around his too-young shoulders. From his precarious throne, he must navigate the treacherous waters of English politics between scheming dukes and aggressive foreign rulers. No wonder he was desperately clinging to the people he could trust.

 

For what felt like the thousandth time, Kijoon felt himself giving in. With a sigh, he put his arm around Kyuhyun’s shoulders, allowing the boy-king to lay his head on his shoulder.

 

“In many ways, you’re still a brat,” he reproached—and yet unable to filter the affection out of his voice.

 

“If being a brat can make you stay, then I'll gladly be a brat for the rest of my life,” Kyuhyun muttered. Even without looking at him, Kijoon could practically hear his pout.

 

A budding smile came to his lips. “We can’t have that. The people need their king.”

 

“And I’ll be a good king,” Kyuhyun insisted. “Just promise me that you won’t go anywhere.”

 

“Fine,” Kijoon finally relented with a soft laugh. “If it means that much to you.”

 

“It does,” was the only answer he got. Kijoon felt his smile widening into a truly happy one.

 

What he didn’t see was the identical smile on Kyuhyun’s face, hidden by the dusty folds of his coat.

 

 

-

 

 

Publae didn't know whether he should reprimand his king for disappearing or just thank him for returning at all. But the radiant smile on Kyuhyun's face as he walked in with Kijoon in tow made Publae feel like expressing his gratitude towards the outlaw instead, and not only for bringing Kyuhyun back. Privately, of course, not in the presence of Kyuhyun who might get horrifying, illogical ideas. Like disappearing more often.

 

"Publae!" Kyuhyun waved cheerily, like he hadn't caused Publae a nervous breakdown the whole day. "Perfect timing. Can you see that the servants have the guest room ready for Kijoon-hyung? He will be staying with us."

 

 _Now that's new_. Kijoon rarely stayed for more than two days in a row, and even then he never made his stay 'official', preferring to slip in and out unannounced while occupying any makeshift bed available.

 

"Just for a few days," Kijoon added. "His Majesty had ordered-"

 

"Requested," Kyuhyun corrected. "I made a request and you agreed on your own will."

 

Kijoon smiled in amusement. "His Majesty had requested me to secretly observe the French delegates during their visit."

 

Publae barely held back his snort. As if Kyuhyun had any real concern. The French delegates were never a threat. Publae doubted that they would talk about things other than sheep and iron. Not even swords-iron, more like cooking-pans-iron.

 

Yes, Kyuhyun just wanted a reason for Kijoon to stay.

 

Not that Publae would even think of denying the only thing that would make Kyuhyun's mood infinitely better for the whole matter. They did need those French cooking pans.

 

"Very well," Publae nodded at Kijoon. "We would be honored to have you."

 

 

-

 

 

“What is he doing here?”

 

Try as he might, Yoo Junsang, the Duke of Cambria, could not quite prevent a trace of animosity from trickling into his voice. But then again, he wasn't trying particularly hard.

 

Publae, who was walking next to him, followed his gaze toward the archery range and chuckled. “Oh, you mean Kijoon. As usual, under His Majesty’s request. This time it's archery lessons. And something about the French.”

 

“A mere hunter has no business to stay in the castle,” Junsang declared, narrowing his eyes at the sight of the king smiling and laughing in the company of said hunter. “Even if he did help His Majesty once.”

 

“Your Grace will have to take it up to the king,” Publae said with a shrug.

 

And he could already see clearly the outcome of such discussion. Junsang suppressed a frustrated sigh. Kyuhyun was a decent king in many ways; it was only when the hunter/outlaw was involved that he seemed to lose all sense of proportions.

 

"As I was saying," he cleared his throat, returning to his earlier subject, "His Majesty will be twenty this year. To settle the question of succession as soon as possible is only prudent. We do not know what danger might lurk in the near future."

 

Publae raised a hand. "Believe me, you are not the first person who has tried to approach this subject. But His Majesty is adamant. He simply won't hear any talk of marriage until the next few years at least."

 

"I think we both know better than to declare ourselves blind to the real reason," Junsang muttered acidly, casting another venomous glance at the pair who were simply too absorbed in each other to notice anything else—or _anyone_ else for that matter.

 

Archery lesson indeed.

 

Publae heaved a dramatic sigh. "Ah, who among us has not known the reckless infatuation of youth?"

 

"When you are a king, life carries a different set of expectations."

 

"I think that is exactly why," Publae argued. "This man is practically the only thing normal left in his life. Do you wonder that he cleaves to him so?"

 

Junsang refused to rise to the bait. "My point stands," he said instead. "The French will make an offer tonight. And it will be foolish to refuse considering His Majesty's still unsteady hold on the throne. An alliance with the French will aid us much, especially against Scotland."

 

Publae said nothing for a long time. His gaze was fixed on the king, and Junsang could see the fierce love he had for the boy-prince who had grown up under his eyes.

 

He understood very well how it felt.

 

"Do what you must," Publae finally said, his tone defeated. "For the good of England."

 

"For the good of England," Junsang repeated, ignoring the small clench in his chest as he took one last glance at their king, so beautiful and radiant under the warm spring sun.

 

Then he turned around and left to make his preparations.

 

 

-

 

 

The French delegates arrived  right before noon. Knowing that Kyuhyun would host a dinner for them later, Kijoon immediately observed them and went through their things meticulously. By the end of lunchtime, he could safely say that they weren't a threat to his king and the kingdom.

 

He told Kyuhyun as much as the young king prepared himself for the nighttime feast. As expected, the response he got was an amused smile—because of course Kyuhyun knew that already—and an invitation to join him at the feast by his side. Kijoon refused politely, insisting that he would be able to observe the French party better if they remained unaware of him. The excuse evoked yet another amused smile, but at least Kyuhyun let him be.  

 

So he took his spot on a particular tree outside the dining hall, with unobstructed view of the interior and a complete concealment by the lush foliage. He was close enough to catch the faint conversation inside, watching as Kyuhyun’s expression gradually hardened as the subject turned to what the king obviously considered—

 

He snapped his head around, sensing that something wasn’t right. Even with his extraordinary hearing, he couldn’t hear anything out of the ordinary—which could mean two things. It might’ve been nothing; then again, his intuition had always been one of the reasons why he could survive for so long and he had learned not to dismiss it so easily.

 

Which meant that there was definitely a threat from outside the dining hall… and this threat was better than him at being undetected.

 

Knowing that it would only get worse if he made a move, Kijoon lay in waiting, trying to at least make out where he should be focusing on. There was something. Someone. Not a member of the French party—he would have noticed—but someone far more dangerous. A threat to his king, to _Kyuhyun_ –

 

And then, as suddenly as it had appeared, it was gone.

 

The suffocating, ominous feeling went away in an instant, but the bad aftertaste lingered. He waited a bit more, noticing that the dinner party was over and the attendees were beginning to rise from their seats. Still restless, he made sure that Kyuhyun exited the hall, followed by the Royal Guards. Only then did he make his way to the king’s chamber, letting out a discreet sigh of relief when Kyuhyun entered the room safe and sound.

 

“Your Majesty,” he greeted. “I’m afraid there’s danger lurking around.”

 

Kyuhyun responded with silence. He didn’t even cast a glance at Kijoon as he took off his own jacket, then his vest in a rather rough manner. Belatedly, Kijoon realized that there was no servant aiding him. Most likely sent off by the king, judging by his apparent foul mood.

 

But this threat… Kijoon was sure this couldn’t wait. “Someone was watching, and it wasn’t the French. I couldn’t find out more but–”

 

“I’m tired,” Kyuhyun suddenly stated. “I will summon you when the time is right.”

 

“You don’t understand. The danger is real, I can feel it. But it slipped away before I could find out more–”

 

“Is there a point in this report since you basically failed?” Kyuhyun snapped, whirling around to glare at him. “You didn’t even notice the ill intention of the French delegates.”

 

Kijoon frowned as he was subjected to the harsh, accusing look. “The French delegates do not bear any ill intention. At least, none grave enough–”

 

“You can add that into your list of failures. Failing to listen what the French had to say, that is.”

 

“…I did listen.”

 

“Then you should’ve known that they rudely shoved _a bloody marriage proposal_ to me!!”

 

Kijoon stood still, watching how Kyuhyun’s hands were fisted on his sides, his whole body shaking with anger… and something else. He found it hard to look away. “My observation from this afternoon remains unchanged. I can assure you that the threat I felt was not, and will not, be coming from them.”

 

A long silence followed. There was no sound save for echoes of distant ones. It was a quiet night to begin with, no wind, nothing. Just frigid, unsympathetic stillness.

 

Kijoon opened his mouth, intending to at least complete his report, to warn Kyuhyun properly, but the young king beat him to it.

 

“Not a threat, the French. Is that the final result of your observation?”

 

“Yes, Your Majesty. The danger is something else–”

 

“You’re dismissed.”

 

Desperate and distressed, Kijoon let his formality slipped. “Kyuhyun–”

 

“I said,” Kyuhyun coldly glowered at him, all authoritative tone and pose, “you’re _dismissed_.” Then he turned away, leaving Kijoon to stare at his back.

 

“…Yes, Majesty.”

 

 

-

 

 

Kijoon and Gunmyung were on the castle grounds, sparring in a sword fight. They had been at it for quite a while now, both men already drenched in sweat. The last strike that Kijoon gave Gunmyung was so forceful it almost struck Gunmyung in the head if not for his fast reflexes.

 

“Whoa, hey, easy there. You almost cut my head off.”

 

“I’m sorry.” Kijoon panted and dropped his sword

 

“What’s the matter with you? Need to vent your frustration?”

 

Kijoon shrugged, "I want to go back to the forest."

 

"So what's the problem? Just go back to the forest, you've been here long enough already."

 

Gunmyung looked at Kijoon and finally understood.

 

"Oh I see, because of His Majesty?"

 

Kijoon showed a defeated puppy look and Gunmyung roared with laughter.

 

"You know, Kijoon, you can always take up my offer and join the Royal Guards. I will specifically assign you to be His Majesty's personal guard. I'm sure he will like that." Gunmyung tapped Kijoon's shoulder and added with mischievous glint in his eyes, "And I'm sure you will like that."

 

“I don’t think that would be wise,” Kijoon replied quietly, remembering bits and pieces of the many idle talks he had overheard by chance during his stay in the castle. The servants’ tittle-tattles were particularly telling. The fact that their king, young and attractive and perfectly healthy as he was, showed very little interest, if any, on the ladies who regularly flocked around him invited no small amount of speculations.

 

Gunmyung shrugged. “Maybe. But he’s a king, and a king is allowed to have whims.”

 

Kijoon grimaced. He knew exactly what Gunmyung had left unsaid. “Our relationship isn’t like that,” he said darkly, provoking another wave of laughter from the other man.

 

“You’re one of the finest swordsmen I know and your marksmanship is possibly second to none in this land,” Gunmyung pointed out, “but lying will never be your strong suit, my friend.”

 

“The French princess–”

 

“Is the most valuable bride-to-be we’ll ever find, yes,” Gunmyung interrupted him with a casual shrug. “When he gets married, he gets married. It won’t be for love though. And are you sure you want to leave him alone in the clutch of a scheming foreign witch?”

 

Kijoon gave him a look. “You’re only saying that to make me stay.”

 

Gunmyung grinned. “Not going to lie, my job will be infinitely easier if you stay. His Majesty is a picture of responsibility whenever you’re around.”

 

“That’s where you’re wrong,” Kijoon muttered, heart growing heavy with the memory of their recent quarrel. “He isn’t even talking to me right now.”

 

 

-

 

 

The next day, despite his persistent foul mood from last night, the king managed to conclude the meeting with the French delegates concerning trades between their two kingdoms, lasting almost the entire day.

 

When the king finally returned to his chamber to rest, Publae came in with a servant bearing a tray of sweet delicacies.

 

“What is this?”

 

“Dariolles and apple tart, freshly made for Your Majesty.”

 

“You always told me to cut down the sweets and now you’re giving it to me freely? I can see bribery even when it weren't so obviously shoved under my nose. What do you want, Publae?”

 

Publae bowed slightly, keeping his gaze downward. “Not at all, sire. I only thought that you must’ve been exhausted after a long day. Certainly you  deserve a little refreshment.”

 

Kyuhyun squinted his eyes, not believing a single word that came out of Publae’s mouth. Nevertheless he nibbled on the tarts, slowly at first. When he finally started gobbling them down, Publae poured some wine into the king’s goblet. Kyuhyun stopped eating for a moment, glared at Publae, but then decided to let him go and drink the wine instead.

 

Publae really knew how to play this game. He kept pouring wine, enough to turn Kyuhyun's foul mood into a more amiable one, but not enough to make him drunk. It was only a matter of time until the king finished his meal and Publae would get exactly what he wanted.

 

“Alright Publae, you win. What do you want to say? Say it now before I changed my mind.”

 

Publae didn’t waste his time and went straight to voice his rehearsed lines. “It’s about the marriage proposal, Your Majesty. I know you haven’t thought much about marriage and would like to postpone it for at least a few years because you think you’re still young enough. However, if I may remind Your Majesty, the late King Richard, your father—God bless his soul—was married at the age of twenty.”

 

Publae observed the king, who displayed no expression at all, and decided to continue. “The marriage proposal from the French is a good opportunity. The union between England and France will strengthen our kingdom against all threats from outside and from within it will also strengthen your position. God knows I probably can’t survive if there’s another coup!”

 

“Last but not least," he continued in a more cautious tone, "I just want to say that kings always marry for political gains and not for love. That is the reason why it is not uncommon for a king to have mistresses or… ehm… lovers.”

 

“THAT IS ENOUGH!”

 

Kyuhyun stood up so suddenly, nearly knocking the chair he had been sitting in. “I heard your points,” he stated flatly and then started walking toward the door.

 

“Your Majesty, where are you going?”

 

“I want to walk in the gardens or am I not allowed to walk in the gardens of my castle?”

 

“Of course not,” Publae hurriedly amended. “I shall send Gunmyung to accompany you. Or should I summon for Kijoon instead?”

 

“NO! I mean… Gunmyung would be fine.”

 

Kyuhyun turned around, leaving the room and Publae who was wondering what had happened between the two.

 

Little did he know that it would be the last time he saw Kyuhyun before disaster struck.

 

**_End Chapter 1  
_ **

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

**Side Story: Yoo Junsang  
**

 

 

As the sole heir of a distinguished dukedom, including but not limited to acres of land along with his father's prosperous business, Yoo Junsang truly understood the need to be wedded (to the eldest daughter of another distinguished duke in less than a week) and sire an heir himself.

 

He simply wished that his own future heir would not at all be like the ten-year-old Crown Prince.

 

After spending only a day at the castle, Junsang had watched how Prince Kyuhyun had run away twice from his lectures and three times from Publae for various reasons, sneaked into the stable to disturb the horses and then the kitchen to steal food—although it definitely shouldn't be called stealing when the servants readily handed over everything the little prince asked for. Kyuhyun also climbed up a tree for no reason and fell on the way down, miraculously without a scratch, although Gunmyung almost got a heart attack.

 

All in all, Prince Kyuhyun was like a nightmare, and a grave warning never to spoil his future heir the way the whole castle did.

 

And then, like a bad omen, he bumped into Kyuhyun the very next morning. Well, more like Kyuhyun bumped into him.

 

Junsang was just minding his own business in the library, skimming through the impressive literary collection, when someone slammed onto the back of his legs. He whipped his body around to see the little prince grinning up at him. "Oh, hello," were the only words Kyuhyun said before he hopped behind the desk and hid himself in the dark recess underneath.

 

'What manners!' Junsang thought, aggravated. With firm steps, he approached the desk and peered down. "Are you running away from your study again?"

 

Kyuhyun tilted his head. "No."

 

"Have you been taught to lie?"

 

"I'm not lying." Kyuhyun frowned, visibly upset. "I have finished my study this morning."

 

"Then why are you hiding?"

 

"So Publae won't find me."

 

"Why are you hiding from him?"

 

Kyuhyun's lips turned into a thin line, determined to stay silent. Only then Junsang noticed how Kyuhyun's arms were wrapped tightly around what appeared to be a piece of paper.

 

"What are you holding?"

 

"Nothing."

 

Junsang glared at him, convinced that the little prince must've done something naughty. "Show me or I will call Publae now."

 

Kyuhyun puffed his cheeks, staring defiantly at Junsang, but the man only needed to take one threatening step towards the door before Kyuhyun grumpily flipped the paper over.

 

Written on it with Kyuhyun's childish handwriting was 'Happy Birthday Publae' and unclear scribbles. "The drawing's not done yet," Kyuhyun mumbled. "I wanted to get more ink but Publae found me so I ran."

 

Ah, a drawing. Now Junsang could make out Publae's mustache and Kyuhyun's unruly hair. Such ugly drawings... And Kyuhyun tried so hard to hide it from Publae until his birthday tomorrow...

 

It was rather endearing.

 

Junsang coughed roughly, shocked by his own thought. What he said next surprised him even more. "I'll get a quill and some ink."

 

Kyuhyun beamed so brightly—gone was the cheeky boy from before. "You will??"

 

"Stay here and wait," Junsang walked away before he said anything he would regret. He returned a few minutes later with the things he promised and let Kyuhyun drew more ugly scribbles on the paper. He told Kyuhyun to hide when Publae approached the library and told the aide that he hadn't seen Kyuhyun that day. Later on, Kyuhyun finally decided it was safe to leave the library. But he caught Junsang off guard and left a peck on his cheek, then he stormed off with happy giggles.

 

Junsang decided that Kyuhyun might not be much of a nightmare after all.

 

 

  
 

* * *

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So far, we have four hyungs, all from musicals :D [Uhm Kijoon](http://ic.pics.livejournal.com/jusrecht/14759857/35483/35483_original.jpg), [Yoo Junsang](http://ic.pics.livejournal.com/jusrecht/14759857/35790/35790_original.jpg), [Lee Gunmyung](http://ic.pics.livejournal.com/jusrecht/14759857/35273/35273_original.jpg), and [Kim Publae](http://ic.pics.livejournal.com/jusrecht/14759857/35840/35840_original.png). Publae is sadly not in the production, but here in this fic, he is basically PhilipKyu's Gregory. Kijoon is, quite obviously, Robin. As for Junsang and Gunmyung, we cast them not as two other Robins (that would be... lol), but invented two completely new roles for the purpose of the plot (WHAT PLOT OTL)
> 
> Anyway, thank you for reading and we'll post the second chapter soon! *^^*


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heed the warnings! This is not a drill.

Kijoon was the first who noticed.

 

Despite the avoidance game that Kyuhyun insisted on playing, he constantly kept an eye on the king. It hurt him to see Kyuhyun now treating him like he didn’t exist, but Kijoon knew where his duty lay. He would stay, even if the only reason why he was still around was to make sure that the threat was no longer a threat.

 

That evening, he was feeling particularly restless for reasons he couldn't seem to pinpoint. The French had left two days ago, bearing—according to Gunmyung—a polite but ambiguous answer to their proposal, doubtlessly smoothed over by Lord Yoo’s skilful diplomacy. And yet Kijoon couldn’t shake off the anxiety that continued to gnaw on his soul. Something was _not_ right.

  
He realised what it was after three hours had passed and he had yet to catch even a glimpse of the king.

 

Heart pounding in his chest, Kijoon scoured the castle from the topmost level of the tower down to the extensive lower grounds. The throne room. The library. The king’s bedroom. The armoury. The private gardens. The royal stables.

 

None yielded the presence of the king. Nobody had seen him for hours.

 

By the time Kijoon bumped into Publae outside the great hall, there had been no doubt left in his mind that something had happened.

 

“Where is the king?”

 

The look which Publae gave him bordered on pity, the kind that would have made Kijoon frown had there not been a more urgent matter at hand. “He went for a walk in the gardens,” was the kind, careful answer.

 

“He wasn’t there,” Kijoon answered brusquely. “In fact, it’s been hours since anyone saw him last.”

 

Consternation trickled into Publae’s expression. “What do you mean?”

 

“I mean he isn’t in the castle,” Kijoon snapped, growing impatient. “And yet his horse is still here, so where can he be?”

 

When Publae finally processed the entire implication of his words, Kijoon had left for the stable. He quickly saddled his own horse and took off, mind frantically going through a list of possible places where Kyuhyun could have gone. The lake in the middle of the forest, their hilltop, the sprawling meadow full of poppies where Kyuhyun liked to visit whenever he missed his mother—all were deserted.

 

By the time Kijoon emerged from a tavern in a nearby village after yet another fruitless search, anxiety had bloomed into fear. Something had definitely happened to Kyuhyun.

 

To make it worse, the sun was setting, he noted with a sinking heart. It was still the end of summer, but the hour was late and the creeping darkness would further disturb his search. To his frustration, he hadn’t been able to find any sign at all of the trails the king usually left in his wake. He could only rely on what mute soil and trampled grass could tell, following confused trails deep into the woods.

 

Until he came to a glade among the trees, where a river sprang from the moss-laced earth. Kijoon stopped dead in his track, heart leaping to his throat as the smell of mugworts and wolfsbane ambushed his nose.

 

Chill seeped into his bones. No wonder he hadn’t been able to find the source of the threat for weeks. But now, at last, his enemy had come out of its hiding and revealed itself.

 

“A warlock.”

 

And he knew exactly who it was.

 

 

-

 

 

Kyuhyun woke up to a hand pressing just below his chest. A thick haze swarmed his mind, as if he has had one too many glass of wine. In any other case, he would’ve given in to the daze, sleeping it off until Publae decided that the King should reap what he sow and forced him into a cold bath. But he had a feeling that Publae wasn’t around, and the motionless hand feeling the pulse of his heart was too intrusive, too intimate.

 

It wasn’t a hand he knew.

 

He snapped his eyes open and saw a person he had never seen.

 

“Oh, you are awake. Sung Sikyung, at your service.” The person smiled warmly, but Kyuhyun felt a chill running down his spine. “You have a gorgeous heart, Your Majesty.” As if to prove his point, his hand gave another pressure against Kyuhyun’s chest—which was bare, Kyuhyun realised in dawning horror, his jacket nowhere in sight and his shirt untucked and unbuttoned halfway.

 

Kyuhyun felt panic grip him when he noticed that he couldn't move his jaw or tongue, as if an invisible force had kept every part of him frozen in place. There was no visible rope or chain, but he couldn't speak, let alone move.

 

He was in a shack, seated against the wall, the afternoon sun just outside the window behind the thickness of the forest trees. The forest. The last thing he remembered was strolling along the furthest corners of the gardens… He had sat on the edge of the fountain, upset, angry at the world—and then everything went black. And now he was certainly no longer within the castle walls.

 

No amount of alcohol would do this, he realised with increasing alarm. There was magic at work. This person was a warlock.

 

“Now, now, don’t be scared.” Sikyung hushed him in what was probably intended to be a comforting manner. “I just fancy some peace and quiet. Besides, I absolutely despise it when people trash around and make a mess, as I’m sure you would should I release you from your binds. Not that I blame you. But really, I’m not the one you should be scared of.”

 

So someone sent a warlock after him.

 

 _“Someone was watching, and it wasn’t the French. I couldn’t find out more but—”_ Kijoon’s warning rang loud and clear. Kyuhyun had ignored it.

 

_“You don’t understand. The danger is real, I can feel it. It slipped away before I could find out more—”_

 

 _“Is there a point in this report since you basically failed?”_ Kyuhyun, being the utter, selfish idiot he was, had snapped at him of course. _“You didn’t even notice the ill intention of the French delegates.”_

 

He had sent him off because of his own selfish desires and even taken off because he wanted to get away from the very person who could watch over him in the midst of such danger. The danger that he only recognised as real after he had fallen into its trap.

 

If only he had listened to Kijoon.

 

“Uhm Kijoon.” The warlock hummed, his hand roaming around his chest before settling back to the spot just atop Kyuhyun’s racing heart. “Is that the person who causes such turmoil in this strong, brave heart?”

 

Kyuhyun shot a glare at him and Sikyung laughed. “Warning me off him? You should be warning me off _you_. Oh, how I wish I could have your heart. It would’ve been a great source of power for me. Alas, it was not mine to take.” As if on cue, Kyuhyun could now hear the distant hoof beats of more than one horse outside, getting closer by the second.

 

“Don’t think badly of me, Your Majesty.” Sikyung pecked his chest, and then the corner of his lips. “It’s all about business.” The warlock stood up and walked away, leaving him alone in the shack.

 

“You might want to tie him up. His bind will come undone the moment he steps out of my range,” Sikyung warned the party outside. “Unless you prefer your catch fighting back.”

 

“Sounds like fun.” A faintly familiar voice reverberated through the wall. “Good job, Sikyung. You will have your reward in a few days.”

 

“What are you planning to do with him?”

 

“I don’t think that’s any of your business,” the person chuckled, a deep, menacing sound. “Be content to know that I plan to make the most of the young, pretty king.”

 

The next moment, his binds were off. Kyuhyun breathed heavily, slumping onto the floor in a split second of relief before scrambling up to his feet.  

 

Right when the King of Scotland, Cha Seungwon, walked into the shack.

 

 

-

 

 

Kijoon rode his horse like crazy to the edge of the Dark Forest. There he dismounted and entered the forest on foot. He used all his skills to move as silently as possible, undetected except by the sharpest animals, until he finally arrived at the center of the forest. There, he found a grim hut, the lair of the warlock. He approached with extreme caution only to find that the door could be opened so easily

 

Wariness crept on him because of how easy everything seemed. Inside the bleak hut, he saw the figure of his king, all dirty and sullied, lying face down on the dusty floor.

 

Kijoon had to force himself not to race toward him immediately. He kept his guards up and called out, “Your Majesty?”

 

The lying figure only whimpered for an answer.

 

Kijoon called out one more time. “Your Majesty? Where is he? Where’s the warlock?”

 

“Kijoon? Help me please.. It hurts..”

 

Hearing the voice of his beloved king, Kijoon rushed to his side and carefully turned him around. “Your Majesty, Kyuhyun, are you alright? Where does it hurt?”

 

Kyuhyun's fingers clung to Kijoon’s coat. Then one of his hand roamed across Kijoon’s chest, to his heart. “Here.”

 

The other hand, Kijoon belatedly realised in shock, wandered south, to his groin. “Kijoon, help me, I’m burning here-”

 

Before the hand reached its destination, Kijoon grabbed it and nailed it to the ground with his knife.

 

“AAARGHHH!”

 

Gone the king-figure, replaced by Sung Sikyung, the warlock.

 

Kijoon pinned the warlock down and shouted, “WHERE IS HE?! WHERE IS THE KING?! TELL ME RIGHT NOW, OR I'LL…”

 

“Or what? You will kill me? Or torture me? I would love to see you try,” Sikyung answered with a definite note of amusement in his voice.

 

Kijoon’s face was red with fury. “Who sent you?!”

 

“I can certainly tell you, except information has its price. And before you start offering money, I already have plenty of those. I want something else.”

 

“What do you want?”

 

“Let’s just say... you owe me one.”

 

Kijoon knew it was neither clever nor wise to make a deal with a warlock, but desperation had pushed him far enough to lose his judgment. And Sikyung, the cunning, perceptive warlock, saw that desperation.

 

“Come now. There is a chance that your precious Kyuhyun will not stay in one piece for long. The longer you hesitate–”

 

“Alright,” Kijoon snapped. “You have my word. Now tell me who hired you.”

 

Sikyung flashed a wicked smile and answered, “Cha Seungwon”

 

“Cha Seungwon?” Kijoon repeated, dumbfounded. “The Scotland king?”

 

Using that brief second of astonishment, Sikyung slipped out of his loosened grasp and disappeared in a blink of eye, but Kijoon could still hear his voice, "You better hurry, because he will break your Kyuhyun so completely that you won't recognise him anymore."

 

Kijoon face full of determination, "Cha seungwon. I will hunt you down and make you suffer if you dare to hurt him."

 

\---

 

“Scotland?”

 

Disbelief must be transparent in his voice, because Kijoon shot him a sharp glance from the corner of his eyes, ignoring the other two in the room.

 

Junsang did not flinch.

 

“A warlock took him,” the hunter said brusquely, not pausing in his preparations even for a moment. His deft hands swiftly dealt with bow and arrows and knives with remarkable efficiency. “Sung Sikyung. I’m sure you’ve heard his name at least. It seems that he was acting under the orders of the king of Scotland this time.”

 

“And you simply _believed_ him when he told you that?”

 

Publae stirred out of his stunned silence. “Your Grace–”

 

“The only reason why I’m still here sharing this information with you all is out of my loyalty to England,” Kijoon retorted, his voice as hard as iron. “Otherwise, do you think I would’ve bothered wasting my time to come back at all instead of looking for him at once?”

 

“I’m sure.” Sarcasm dripped from every syllable of Junsang’s answer. “After all, playing the hero is what you do best.”

 

Something dangerous flashed in Kijoon’s eyes. Junsang’s hand had already flown to the hilt of his sword, prepared for a fight when Gunmyung suddenly stepped between the two of them, his face grim.

 

“His Majesty’s safety is our chief priority at the moment,” he declared sternly. “Anything else can wait _after_ we have him safely returned to the castle.”

 

Junsang loosened his grip on his sword and drew a deep breath to calm himself. He knew that his callousness was deliberate, born mainly out of his instinctive dislike of the former knight. More often than not, it was harmless enough, but as was with everything else, there were times for indulgence and there were times for restraint.

 

This was obviously the latter.

 

“My point is,” Kijoon continued, calmer now although tension was still evident in the set of his shoulders, “this kidnapping might just be the beginning. A kingdom without a king is a body without a head. England must prepare for the worst.”

 

There was only silence for a long moment, finally broken by Publae’s whisper, “Mercy of God, that could be their intention.”

 

“An invasion,” Junsang heard himself murmur, a whisper of chill running down his spine.

 

“In His Majesty’s absence, someone else must bring order and command the army,” Kijoon said again. He looked at no one in particular, but Junsang knew perfectly well of whom he was talking.

 

“And you?” he asked sharply.

 

Kijoon clasped a leather belt around his hips, now heavy with sheathed blades, and then met Junsang’s gaze. “I will bring him back or die trying.”

 

Junsang snorted, but before he could deliver another scathing retort, Kijoon had spoken again, “However, I have a favour to ask of you. I can probably track them easily enough and find my way through the Scottish Highlands on my own, but it will be far quicker if I have some directions at least.” He paused, and Junsang could already hear the rest of the words before they were even spoken. “You’ve been there before. You marched an army to the borders twice, in the service of His Majesty’s father.”

 

“I did,” he answered noncommittally.

 

“Then–”

 

“A person is better than a map,” Junsang said decisively. “I will go with you.”

 

To Kijoon’s credit, he didn’t even blink at the sudden imposition. “Someone must command the army,” he reminded in the same hard tone.

 

“Lord Jung may have the honour this time. My duty lies elsewhere.”

 

They glared at each other, neither deigning to yield. Junsang would never admit it, but at that one moment, he knew that he understood this man standing in front of him far better than he had ever understood anyone in his life.

 

“I ride light and swift,” Kijoon finally said.

 

“Indeed?” Sarcasm returned to Junsang’s voice. “Then let me teach you the true meaning of haste.”

 

“And I’ll already sit astride my horse before either of you stop spitting insults at each other,” Gunmyung’s voice cut into their argument. He had already disappeared out of the door by the time Junsang withdrew from the glaring contest.

 

He shared another quick glance with Kijoon, and then shrugged.

 

A band of three then.

 

-

 

"How is my favorite toy today?"

 

Kyuhyun's eyes remained closed, not even flinching when ragged breath hit his face. "Pretending you don’t exist, like usual."

 

"I think what you mean is, yearning for my presence, perhaps?" A hand roughly gripped his face and forced him to look at his assaulter.

 

"Dreading," Kyuhyun put every hate he felt towards Seungwon into the word, "is a huge understatement."

 

"Don't run your mouth too much." Seungwon grinned and wiped Kyuhyun's chapped lips with his thumb. "Or I might be tempted to have it run somewhere else."

 

"Make me and I would put my teeth to work instead."

 

Seungwon slapped him hard with the back of his hand. "Such attitude." He slapped him once more, harder. "You should give me more of those sweet tears. You were so scared, so helpless, so _beautiful_ …"

 

"I didn't remember." Kyuhyun glared defiantly. "You might've been dreaming one of your sick, abominable dreams."

 

Two seconds later, Kyuhyun found himself already thrown across the room. Seungwon licked his lips with excitement as he approached him again, unbuckling his pants along the way and enjoying the twitch of panic Kyuhyun was unable to hide.

 

"Then I need to remind you how _real_ it was..."

 

Of course Kyuhyun remembered, all too vividly.

 

He had cried that first day. He had taunted Seungwon and mocked his cowardly ways, but then he had acted like a coward himself when the Scotland king overpowered him easily and proceeded to torment Kyuhyun with shame. Kyuhyun hadn't begged for mercy, but he had cried and whimpered and sobbed all the same, the immense fear and pain shattering his pride and every bit of fortitude he thought he had.

 

 _"Can't have England and France marching against me, can I? I'm the one who should own that bloody whore. Your only fault is that the French offered their princess' hand in marriage to you."_   Seungwon had leered down at him as he violated him mercilessly, over and over again. _"Well, that, and the fact that you're prettier than her."_

 

When he had finished, he had assigned the guards to tie Kyuhyun up and forbid them from touching him. That privilege was his alone.

 

 _"He was a virgin. A virgin king. Can you believe that?"_ Cha Seungwon had laughed to his aide as he climbed onto his horse. He was sated, amused but hadn't had enough. But he had thought better of it and left the bruised, unmoving body on the floor, because he knew he couldn't break it all the way if he wanted to continue enjoying it.

 

The guards gave him water and food twice a day, either tasteless and raw or burnt and spoiled. They never spoke, not to each other, not to him. Sometimes they stared at him with the kind of gaze that mirrored Seungwon's whenever lust consumed him, but they left him alone and stood on watch outside the door of the room where he was confined.

 

It was the hardest when he was all by himself.

 

With no distraction whatsoever, he was forced to see himself. The ropes digging into his skin, the various marks and bruises spread all over his body, the drops of blood on the floor and the disgusting, crusted remains of fluids—everywhere, they're everywhere–

 

Sometimes he retched, or vomited.

 

Sometimes he bit into his hand and swallowed his screams.

 

Sometimes he thought of the palace. Of Sherwood. Kijoon.

 

And then he cried.

 

_**End Chapter 2** _

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

**Side Story: Lee Gunmyung**

 

The strangeness of this land beckoned.

 

It had none of his hometown’s old charms, with its spreading sea and endless stretch of horizon. Instead, there were flatlands and impenetrable forests and fogs as thick as smoke.

 

Unfamiliarity was perhaps best when one was trying to leave one’s past behind. He had discarded his old self, from his sullied name to his wrecked identity to his estranged family. Now he wore the name Lee Gunmyung, and as this stranger he found the child.

 

Huddled under a tree, with his tunic of rich brocade soaked through and a crown of wilting flowers on his hair.

 

“Are you lost?”

 

The child stared at him, eyes large and curious, brow drawn in perplexity instead of fear. Only then that Gunmyung realised that he had spoken in his mother tongue.

 

He repeated the question in the common speech of this land and gained an immediate answer.

 

“Of course not.” The child straightened up and threw his shoulders back haughtily, in a parody of a noble. “I am the prince.”

 

Gunmyung raised his eyebrows but kept any articulation of disbelief firmly behind his teeth. “I see,” he said solemnly. “And what, pray, is His Highness the Prince doing out here alone?”

 

“A man took me away from my chaperone,” the answer came promptly, “and then he fell down his horse and died.”

 

This time, Gunmyung had to marvel at the child’s imagination. “You must have quite an adventure.”

 

The boy rose to his feet, his full height barely reaching Gunmyung’s hips. In the day's waning light, he looked almost unreal, and Gunmyung remembered all the fireside stories he used to hear in his childhood, of elves and druids and fair creatures not of this world.

 

“You speak strangely,” the boy declared, eyeing the tall stranger in front of him with much speculation.

 

“I hailed from far away.”

 

“Do you wish to harm me?”

 

Gunmyung laughed. “We have just met. Why would I wish to harm you?”

 

“Good.” The boy nodded. “Then I command you to take me home.”

 

He would have laughed again, but Lee Gunmyung was a kind man—was supposed to be a kind man, and a kind man would never leave a child alone in the wild. And so he sank to one knee and playfully took one of the boy's hands to bestow a kiss on its back.

 

“Your wish is my command, Highness.”

 

Besides, there was always the prospect of a wealthy father who would reward him richly for returning his son to safety. Altruism and profit in one package; he could not ask for a better opportunity.

 

They set out at once. The child had scores of questions ready—of his journey (Gunmyung gave only a half-true account), of places and people and creatures he stumbled on along the way (again, half true and the other half imaginary), of his family (he invented an uncle and a few non-existent brothers), of his hometown (he conjured up an island off the Welsh coast, but with the same spreading sea and far horizon).

 

The child was thoughtful after a particularly detailed explanation of the tide’s ebb and flow. “One day,” he spoke in a curiously solemn voice, “when I am king, I shall go to see the ocean.”

 

It made Gunmyung smile and he met the straightforward gaze looking up at him, full of wide-eyed wonder. “I will take you there.”

 

The child gave him one of his majestic nods. Gunmyung hid another smile. He found the child endearing—if a bit pompous—especially when he insisted on transferring the flower crown to Gunmyung’s head before he would let himself be carried. Or when he fell asleep on his shoulder. And when he stubbornly refused to eat more than his half of the apple they were sharing.

 

It would be a difficult parting, Gunmyung caught himself thinking wistfully when they made their stop on the second night.

 

But of course the Fates liked playing tricks on him, as always, and the day after, as soon as they had arrived in London, he discovered that His Highness was, in fact, truly His Highness.

 

The next trick soon followed. He was captured, and then brought, bound and shackled, to the king’s presence to accept his fate, the charge of abduction hanging over his head, when the same boy-prince burst through the door.

 

“Father!” the prince said in a firm tone that would brook no argument despite the drying tracks of tears on his face. He stood in front of Gunmyung’s kneeling form, arms spread as if to shield him from the king's judgment. “You cannot kill him. He is mine. He shall be my knight and mine alone!”

 

This, so Gunmyung would discover much, much later, was how their story began.

 

** **

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two more hyungs! Everybody knows [Sung Si Kyung](http://ic.pics.livejournal.com/jusrecht/14759857/36243/36243_original.jpg), Kyuhyun's eternal idol :D As for [Cha Seung Won](http://ic.pics.livejournal.com/jusrecht/14759857/36825/36825_original.jpg), he's the actor [whose photo for some obscure reasons once graced Kyuhyun's phone's wallpaper](http://ic.pics.livejournal.com/jusrecht/14759857/36375/36375_original.jpg)...


	3. Chapter 3

Their journey took too long.

 

Kijoon scanned their surroundings for probably the thousandth time, weariness heavy in his bones. In the pre-dawn gloom, everything wore the muted colours of shadows. They broke camp nevertheless, slowly mounting their horses and departing once more.

 

Five days had passed since the king’s abduction. Kijoon had used every skill he had learned throughout the years of surviving in the wilderness to track the abductors. He brought them across mist-laced hills and wind-swept valleys, guided by fading tracks which were ambiguous at best. The other two followed behind him, bound by a stiff silence that shackled them as tightly as chain.

 

Half an hour later, the sun rose. It wasn't long until they found traces of a campsite, in the shadow of an outcrop by a small woods.

 

“They turned west,” Kijoon decided after examining a set of tracks leading away from the area.

 

“Are you sure?” Junsang suddenly broke his silence. “We’re heading away from the city. There’s only wilderness to the west.”

 

“This is the same track we've been following for days. They turned west,” Kijoon repeated adamantly.

 

There was no further argument from the duke, but the challenge was written clearly on his face. Kijoon frowned. Not for the first time in the last five days, he wondered if the brewing panic had impaired his judgment. Perhaps haste had made him too rash—but the campsite was an encouraging sign, and after all, they hadn’t come across Kyuhyun’s dead body–

 

A wave of chill speared his insides. The very idea of it made him feel sick. Kijoon gritted his teeth against the wave of nausea, focusing on his surroundings.

 

That was when he heard the sound.

 

“Is that...?” Gunmyung started, but left the rest unsaid. In the suffocating silence, the sound of approaching horses was startlingly loud, even from a distance away. Kijoon pressed his ear to the ground, listening intently despite his own hammering heartbeat.

 

“Five riders,” he told them, quickly rising to his feet. “My guess, a band of Scottish soldiers. Clear the path. There's a chance that they haven’t seen us yet.”

 

Junsang gave him a quick look. “It is possible that they have some information–”

 

“I know,” Kijoon nodded abruptly, grabbing the reins of his horse.

 

The sparse copse of trees to their left provided little cover, but little was better than nothing. They all waited, silent and still, as the echoes of thundering hooves drew closer. Soon the riders came into view, first merely dark spots at the edge of sight but fast taking shapes into five horses and five men atop them.

 

Kijoon had his bow at the ready with an arrow notched, dozens more still waiting in his quiver. He felt suddenly, strangely calm. There was something about trees that gave him a sense of familiarity—of coming home. His head cleared. His breathing eased. His near-crippling worry dimmed into a peripheral throb that thinly shadowed his heartbeat.

 

The company was almost upon them, now only seconds away. This close, he could finally distinguish the tell-tale colour of their clothes. Scottish.

 

Kijoon took aim. A nod from the duke let loose the first arrow. It struck the foremost rider in the left shoulder and earned them a surprised, pained shout. The other four had barely processed this when the second rider fell to the ground, another arrow piercing his belly.

 

The rest was easy enough. Junsang and Gunmyung exploited the moment of panic and confusion to join the fray. Both were excellent swordsmen and it didn’t take them long to topple the remaining three off their horses and execute them. They didn't need all five to talk.

 

“Where is the English king?” Gunmyung demanded as soon as they had the two Scottish soldiers under the mercy of their blades.

 

A defiant silence answered his question. A heartbeat later, Gunmyung’s voice rose into a shout. “ANSWER ME!”

 

The second rider suddenly laughed, a gasping laugh chopped by pain from the arrow wound in his belly.

 

“You're too late,” he rasped, all malice and taunt. It was obvious that he did not expect to survive the encounter. "Our king has been having his way with him."

 

It was Junsang's turn to lose his calm, swinging his fist to connect with the rider's jaw before grabbing a fistful of hair to make the man look at him. "What are you talking about?"

 

"You'll see," the rider spat blood to the side. "But first you'll have to find him. If you can."

 

Kijoon could feel ice-cold resolve settling into his bones as he strode forward, pushing past a stunned Gunmyung and shoving Junsang away. He felt absolutely nothing when he grabbed the tail of his embedded arrow and gave it a slight twist, drawing an agonised howl from the helpless soldier.

 

“Do you have any idea how much entrails you’ll have left when I’m done with you?” he heard himself say, almost without inflection. A second twist followed, harder, far more ruthless, and his victim practically screamed for mercy. “You won’t be dead, but you won’t be alive either.”

 

“No, please– please oh God have mercy–!” The horrified plea ended in another scream as Kijoon jerked the arrow shaft even deeper.

 

“Then answer. Where is my king?”

 

One minute later, they were already speeding toward their new destination.

 

-

 

People had always called him crazy. They didn't think he knew, but he did, and he didn't mind, as long as everyone obeyed his rules and no one stood in his way. That was why he ended up kidnapping King Kyuhyun.

 

At first, his only intention was to launch an invasion. He would've been content with a few swift, crushing battles, leaving devastation in his wake straight to the heart of England, after which he would've given their king a quick, merciful death. But then the warlock he had sent for reconnoitre told him that the French had proposed a marriage towards Kyuhyun—and that, Seungwon really, absolutely couldn't accept. He had seen the princess, once, and she was perfect. Young, beautiful, and rich, not to mention coming with a valuable connection that he could no doubt exploit in the future. She would certainly be a great ornament to his throne, and yet she chose an inexperienced king, a greenhorn less than half his age.

 

Absolute blasphemy. He needed to teach this Kyuhyun a lesson.

 

So lessons he gave, and did he enjoy giving them.

 

He taught Kyuhyun his place, broken and helpless beneath him, completely under his mercy (or lack thereof). Kyuhyun had provided him with the sweet taste of resistance only in the beginning, but that was alright, because Seungwon took delight all the same in his poorly hidden fear and horrified silence.

 

And if he could care less about a proper invasion as long as Kyuhyun kept him occupied and satisfied, shouldn't the English king feel grateful instead?

 

"You're a marvelous martyr, you know that?" he whispered into Kyuhyun's ear, enjoying the disgusted flinch. "I would be in your kingdom, causing rampage and setting fire in my path, raping your women, if I weren't so taken with you. Or should I say 'busy taking you'?"

 

Kyuhyun shot him a glare from above his shoulder, his teeth finally releasing their hold on his bloodied, abused lower lip. "You think it would be easy, taking over my kingdom?"

 

Seungwon smirked, pleased that Kyuhyun responded to his taunts, unlike other days. "Why wouldn't it be?"

 

"Maybe England is not as powerful as she was once—not _yet_ —but we're-" Kyuhyun jerked as Seungwon bit the back of his neck, "-resilient."

 

"Just like her king, I suppose. So... pliable and compliant, no matter what I do to you. I might even start thinking that you actually enjoy every second of it."

 

Kyuhyun spat at his face and Seungwon took a moment to wipe his face before slamming the young man's head against the floor. "How dare you!!?? How dare you, insolent wretch!!"

 

"We will not stand down!" Kyuhyun shouted, despite the painful pressure Seungwon put on the side of his face. "My knights, my army, my people will not bow down before you!!"

 

"And where are your people now!!?" Seungwon let out a thunderous laugh. "They can't even save you, their king, from me-"

 

The loud shouts and neighing horses outside stopped Seungwon.  

 

 

-

 

Lee Gunmyung rarely got angry.

 

In fact, he _never_ got angry. Anger belonged to that other person he had buried twelve years ago, the one who had massacred an entire village in his quest for vengeance.

 

That person no longer existed. And yet it was anger which burned in his chest as he spurred his horse faster and faster. The soldier’s taunt haunted his ears. Fear clenched his chest as too many possible interpretations stormed his brain. For all he knew, they were already too late and the worst had come to Kyuhyun.

 

That boy-prince he had carried on his shoulders, that gentle soul who had saved his life, who had given him home, who had made him the person he was now.

 

Gunmyung snarled when their destination came to sight. There was no mistake; a few dozens soldiers or so stood around a dilapidated shack, weapons drawn at their approach. He felt a rush of exhilaration at the sight. A strategy would probably serve them better in a rescue mission, but they all had long passed the point of caring. Neither of his two companions slowed down.

 

Gunmyung remembered little of what came next. He unsheathed his sword and rode into the nearest cluster of soldiers, hacking and slashing as he went. Their cries of battle unleashed the monster he had imprisoned so long within. He found himself trapped in this blind, merciless rage, this cursed relic of his past. Enemies went down around him, dropping like flies, staining the earth with their red-black blood.

 

He did not stop until he could reach to the door—but Kijoon was already there. He was pulling his sword out of a dead man's throat, with countless others lying dead at his feet. His entire body was drenched in blood, from his grim face to his fingers, still clenched tight around the hilt of his sword, to the length of his mud-coloured clothes. He looked precisely like a war god who brought death and carnage with him.

 

It was this sight of Kijoon that shook him out of his frenzy. Gunmyung blinked, a shiver racing up his spine as he finally took in the scene around them. Their eyes met. The weight of their deeds slammed into his consciousness full force. For a moment, both hesitated.

 

That was when the door flung open from the inside and six men rushed out. Gunmyung started, surprised, and would have fallen victim to a blind slash if he had been a mite slower. But he jumped back just in time and swung his sword in retaliation, fast claiming another victim.

 

The true import of the situation did not register with him until he heard Lord Yoo’s enraged shouts. Kijoon already gave chase, striking down one more in the process, but the king of Scotland had already mounted his horse and was now fleeing fast, the rest of his men hindering any effort to pursue.

 

Gunmyung did not follow. Instead, he turned around and headed into the shack, hope and dread pounding in his chest. He didn’t see Kyuhyun among those who fled—but they wouldn’t have left him behind, would they? Not unless he was already…

 

A rank smell assaulted his nose as soon as he stepped in—the smell of blood and sweat and something else he did not even wanted to think about. Gunmyung tightened his grip around his sword. It was dark inside, with no window to help him see his surround. Even more discouraging was the complete silence that greeted his ears. No one was here.

 

Until he saw the pale, unmoving body in the far corner of the room.

 

Gunmyung rushed toward the still figure. Heart in his throat, he turned the body over, hands trembling so badly they almost lost their grip.

 

“Majesty?”

 

A weak moan reached his ears. Gunmyung almost wept in relief when he found wild, fearful eyes looking up at him. His king was alive.

 

But the relief was short-lived. His eyes soon noticed the condition Kyuhyun was in, from the dirty tracks of tears on his gaunt face to the lack of a single thread of cloth on his body and the scores of bruises all over his skin, the bleeding scrapes on his knees, the blue-black hand marks on his hips, the not-yet-drying fluid on his thighs.

 

It did not take him long to deduce everything that had happened in this place: the lowest, most despicable form of conquest. Far, _far_ worse than killing. The one thing which had turned him into a monster a long time ago.

 

Gunmyung could not trust himself to speak, not even when Kyuhyun's lips moved, forming a voiceless whisper which might be his name. All the old horror and disgust were welling up in him. He would kill the bastard. He would destroy him—his _whole_ kingdom if he must–

 

It was the sound of running feet outside that pulled him out of those dark thoughts. Gunmyung turned, sword ready, until he heard Kyuhyun’s whimper.

 

“No… please, God, no… don’t let him see me, don’t–”

 

Gunmyung was about to assure him that the enemy was no longer there when it suddenly hit him: Kyuhyun was afraid of something else. And that something happened when Kijoon strode in, still brandishing his blood-stained sword.

 

“Where is he.”

 

Behind him, Kyuhyun made a small, agonised sound. As much as Gunmyung wanted to spare his king this pain, there was nothing he could do. Kijoon already approached them, his feet quick and purposeful.

 

They stopped dead two paces away. Gunmyung waited; he could not see the other man’s face, but it wasn’t difficult to imagine the realisation, the slowly dawning horror—especially with the last two slow, unsteady steps before Kijoon fell to his knees.

 

“Your Majesty.” His voice was a shaky whisper, filled by anguish. Kyuhyun had already curled into a ball, arm thrown across his face as if to hide it from Kijoon’s eyes.

 

“Don’t look...” The despair in Kyuhyun’s voice broke Gunmyung’s heart. “Please...”

 

Kijoon said nothing. Instead, he reached down to remove the king’s arm, causing Kyuhyun to jerk away from the touch.

 

“N-no, don’t–”

 

“Look at me,” Kijoon demanded, quiet but stern. A series of frantic shaking of the head was all he got in return. “You must.”

 

“No I can’t–”

 

“Look at me!”

 

Kyuhyun flinched. The harsh tone seemed to startle him out of the depth of his despair and he looked up, eyes wild and fearful, focused entirely on Kijoon’s face.

 

“Good,” Kijoon spoke again, sounding calmer, milder, but no less firm. “Can you sit up?”

 

Kyuhyun nodded slowly, as if in a daze. His limbs stirred, their movements jerky and clumsy, but little by little he managed to rise, first on his elbows, then his knees. All the way, Kijoon's hand never let go of his arm, guiding him, gently but firmly—until Kyuhyun lost his balance and fell back on his side once more.

 

“I- I can’t, I’m sor–”

 

“Hush.” Kijoon was there in an instant, supporting his back, holding him in his arms. “You’ve done very well.”

 

Gunmyung watched as his king tried to smile and failed almost immediately, taken over by the small sobs and tears of mixed emotions. Kijoon didn't say anything—or more like he couldn't, as his jaws were set tight. Only his arms tightened around Kyuhyun's trembling form as he allowed the king to hide his face on his shoulder.

Belatedly noticing that Kyuhyun remained in that wretchedly exposed state (he had been trying really hard not to count the bruises, or else he would feel the overwhelming urge cut the person who did it into the same number of pieces), Gunmyung took off his coat and raised it towards his king—only to have Kijoon growling at him. Startled, he nevertheless recognised the look on the other man's face for what it really was. The fierce, protective glare was unmistakeable. Every inch of Kijoon was ready to attack _anyone_ who dared to come close. There was no difference between allies and enemies when it came to Kyuhyun's current state—everything and everyone was a threat for all Kijoon cared. The man couldn't help it; Gunmyung understood this very well, and so he let Kijoon take off his own coat to wrap it around Kyuhyun instead.

 

“What the hell happened? Why aren’t you–”

 

Junsang’s voice disappeared and the duke stood, stunned, having just rushed in. This time, there was no slow dawning horror after realisation slammed in.

 

“I’m going to kill him,” he swore, already turning toward the door to carry out his threat.

 

“Wait, milord!” Gunmyung called out quickly, rising to his feet. “We must first bring the king back to safety. Any further delay, for whatever reason, would be too risky.”

 

He half-expected a burst of expletives thrown his way, but Junsang only slammed his hand hard on the door sill, drawing a surprised whimper from their king. “Fine,” he growled and stormed out of the shack.

"We need to head back before the sun sets," Gunmyung spoke again, this time to the remaining two. even though he wanted to let Kyuhyun take his time. Kijoon was the one who nodded as he practically took all of Kyuhyun's weight and walked him to his horse, the king's barely dragging his own feet. Gunmyung could see the pain racking Kyuhyun's frame with every step they took. He could see the devastatingly shameful tears still running down Kyuhyun's face, and the equally devastating blank expression on Kijoon’s face, barely masking his raging concern and fury.

 

He vowed right then and there, that once Kyuhyun was back within the safe walls of the palace, his king only needed to say one word, and Gunmyung would turn the earth red with the blood of the man who had done the unspeakable things to Kyuhyun.

 

 

-

 

“How is His Majesty?”

 

Kijoon didn’t seem to hear him, too focused on substituting the already lukewarm water in the basin with a fresh one. Junsang had to tap him lightly on the shoulder to get his attention before repeating the question.

 

“Still unconscious… His fever hasn’t come down,” Kijoon mumbled distractedly, exhausted and worried. Junsang could see the dark shadows under his eyes and he knew that the other man hadn’t slept at all these past two days. In fact, Junsang had never seen Kijoon left Kyuhyun’s side since that time they found him, let alone outside his chamber. Usually a servant, a guard, or even Publae would fetch the things Kyuhyun needed. Judging from the time—it was past midnight—Kijoon most likely had no other choice but to leave the king to refill the water basin himself.

 

The duke had just forced a distressed Publae to get some rest, and he had intended to tell Kijoon the same… But if it had been difficult to convince Publae earlier, the look on Kijoon’s face told him that it would be downright impossible to convince this man.

 

Junsang decided to help him instead, taking a new towel and a fresh batch of herbs, catching the flash of gratitude on Kijoon’s face now that they could return to the king’s chamber sooner. He hastily walked ahead, Junsang falling behind his quick strides. He almost bumped into the other man, though, when Kijoon opened the door to the chamber and stopped dead on his tracks.

 

Because where Kyuhyun was supposed to lie, there was only an empty bed.

 

For one terrifying moment, panic gripped Junsang, his mind running through the worst possibilities. Kyuhyun had been kidnapped again. They had failed him, lost him again—

 

Kijoon put the bowl on the floor, his trembling hands a stark contrast to his measured movements, his eyes fixed on one corner of the room. Following Kijoon’s gaze, Junsang caught the sight of the king, though the relief was short-lived.

 

Kyuhyun was hunched on the floor, his face hidden as he wrapped his shaking arms around his knees all too tightly. Muffled whimpers filled the room and their young king looked so small, so frail. Junsang felt the immense, overwhelming need to comfort him, yet at the same time he was at loss of what to do.

 

Kijoon, on the other hand, didn’t hesitate.

 

Junsang watched as Kijoon approached Kyuhyun as cautiously as he could. Then he knelt in front of him, calling out the king’s name gently, and just like that, Kyuhyun’s shaking receded until he stilled completely. Junsang continued to watch as Kijoon stroke Kyuhyun’s hand all the way to his cheek, until the king looked up, his eyes turning from wet with fearful tears into shining with relief. Junsang was still watching when Kyuhyun looked around the room in alarm, as if he couldn’t quite believe that he was back in the safe haven of his chamber, but Kijoon embraced him then, wordlessly reassuring him that no harm would come to him ever again.

 

And despite his need to make sure that his king was fine, Junsang could watch no longer, embarrassed to see something that he shouldn’t have seen. An intimate moment only meant for the two in the corner of the room.

 

He stepped outside and closed the door.

 

-

 

Kijoon carried his king up in his arms, undisturbed by the tight, almost suffocating grasp around his neck. He had wanted to be strong for Kyuhyun, but he couldn’t even fake a smile after a single glance at the dried tracks of tears on the younger man’s face. Kyuhyun’s skin felt like it was burning--the panic attack earlier certainly hadn’t helped in his recovery, and Kijoon could only curse himself for leaving him alone.

 

It was when he lowered Kyuhyun onto the bed and earned a flinch instead that Kijoon lost all composure. “What’s wrong?? Does it hurt anywhere?”

 

Kyuhyun shook his head and tried to speak, yet his unused throat produced raspy coughs instead. By reflex, Kijoon made a move to reach for the jug of water Junsang had left by the door, but the hands clutching his shoulders were unyielding.

 

“Just gonna get water for you.” Kyuhyun shook his head and held onto him tighter, so Kijoon tried again. “It’s right there, see? You need to lie down and wait just fot a bit. Won’t take a moment.”

 

After shaking his head faster and swallowing with huge effort once, twice, Kyuhyun finally managed to croak out weakly, “Don’t… leave me…”

 

Feeling his heart break into pieces, Kijoon pressed his forehead against the younger man’s. “I’m here, Kyuhyun,” he uncurled one firmly fisted hand gripping his shoulder, little by little, and linked their fingers together before bringing the back of his king’s hand against his lips. “I’m not going anywhere.”

 

Kyuhyun stared at their linked hands, then at Kijoon, his feverish gaze searching and uncertain. “I’m staying,” Kijoon promised, and proved it by lying down next to Kyuhyun.

 

“Stay…” Kyuhyun hoarsely whispered, “while I sleep…?”  

 

Kijoon smiled and moved his other arm to circle the younger man’s waist, engulfing him in a cocoon of protection. That seemed to be all the answer Kyuhyun needed as he sighed in contentment and closed his eyes.

 

The truth was, Kijoon would have answered loudly to his plea earlier. But Kyuhyun was delirious, unwell, and might even forget everything come morning.

 

Would it be selfish of him for wanting Kyuhyun to understand clearly and remember when Kijoon pledged ‘forever’?

 

 

-

 

 

Bruises lways appear the worst days after they were inflicted.

 

The purplish marks, stark against Kyuhyun's pale skin, were a reminder that only days ago, he had still been in the clutch of the abominable neighbouring king. Abused and harmed. Treated far beneath his own place as a king.

 

The green and yellow ones, though, weren't any better, despite their clearly being on their way to recovery. They only served as the harsh reminder that Kyuhyun had endured everything far longer than he ever should.

 

Kijoon's hands shook as he peeled the thin clothing off Kyuhyun's body and helped him into the bath, holding himself together by sheer willpower. He was the one who had insisted to help.

 

When Kyuhyun had said that he desired a bath, he had adamantly refused any help from the servants. But one unsteady step from the bed had sent Kijoon running and demanding to be of assistance, barely caring about disrespect. Fortunately, Kyuhyun had been still to weak to maintain his refusal and finally accepted the offer.

 

A sudden flinch was enough to snap Kijoon out of his own troubled feelings. "I'm sorry," Kijoon said, removing the cloth he was using to scrub Kyuhyun's body right away.

 

"It's fine, I'm alright," Kyuhyun forced out a weak smile and Kijoon hated it, because Kyuhyun was the one who just escaped that hell, and no one should make him offer comfort to someone else, not even Kyuhyun himself. He returned to wiping the king's body in silence, paying extra attention to avoid the delicate spots while noting where to apply the healing salve later on.

 

No further words were spoken. Kyuhyun appeared so calm in the warm water, so relaxed, that Kijoon almost didn't have the heart to rouse him before he fell asleep for real. Absently, Kijoon recalled their encounter at the lake when he had helped Kyuhyun into clean clothes. It was hard to imagine that the playful Kyuhyun back then was the same person as the one standing in front of him now, head hung low and expression sombre. He sucked in a deep breath as he tried to quell the ever-burning anger, the unfulfilled thirst for the blood of the man responsible for Kyuhyun's anguish. But even when the urge to storm into the neighboring kingdom and hunt for their king's head was at its strongest, it was always overshadowed by the need and desire to stay near _his own_ king, where he could keep him safe and sound. The very idea of leaving his side killed Kijoon on the inside, the fear and worry about Kyuhyun's falling into the enemy's hands eating him up even during his slumber. Last time, Kyuhyun had returned; the next time, he might not be so lucky.

 

Yes, he decided, Kyuhyun should be the sole recipient of his whole attention for now. 

 

He helped Kyuhyun back into bed and pulled the blanket over him before taking his usual spot on the chair next to the bed. Only then that he noticed that the king was staring at him with a searching look in his eyes.

 

"Your Majesty?"

 

Face stormed by many conflicting emotions, Kyuhyun looked away, but a gentle touch on his hand made him meet Kijoon’s gaze again. He sighed, and then spoke his question with such soft voice that Kijoon almost didn't catch it, "...is it pity?"

 

"What?"

 

"I asked," Kyuhyun took a deep breath, "is it pity? That makes you stay."

 

The barrage of emotions that hit him with that single question was so intense that Kijoon almost lost it. In fact, he would have, if not for the insecurity, fear, and lack of self-worth apparent in Kyuhyun's eyes.

 

"You know it's not."

 

"Because I don't mind." Kyuhyun bit his lip. "As long as you stay."

 

"I am staying, but not because I pity you." As if to prove his point, Kijoon took Kyuhyun's hand and kissed the back as gently as he could.

 

"Then... is it loyalty?"

 

The uncertainty remained there, the anxiety consuming Kyuhyun. Kijoon didn't think anymore, or more like he didn't give himself a chance to think. All that mattered was he needed to show Kyuhyun that he was much, much more than a king to be pitied. Kyuhyun was a man who deserved every ounce of his loyalty, respect, devotion... and love.

 

And so he leaned down and kissed him for the first time.

 

Kyuhyun's lips were warm and soft, just like how he had always imagined they would be. He wanted to make it last, but his desire to see how Kyuhyun took the kiss, whether he understood Kijoon's feelings—whether he accepted it—was too strong. So he pulled back... and saw a single drop of tear rolling down Kyuhyun's cheek.

 

It nearly sent him into a flurry of concern and distress, but then he caught the disbelief, the hesitant glimmer of hope shining through the young king's eyes. Kijoon felt his own heart soar with affection as he kissed Kyuhyun again, longer this time, to properly convey everything he had been too afraid to say.

 

Despite his bold and gallant reputation as an outlaw, Kijoon had always been the coward between them. Whenever Kyuhyun took a step forward, he would wait in his place, too afraid to meet him in the middle while at the same time feeling too much yearning to step back. It was his turn, now more than ever, to take that step forward.

 

"Is this real...?" were the first words coming out of Kyuhyun as soon as they broke their kiss.

 

Kijoon smiled, heart fluttering in his chest. "I assure you it's not a dream."

 

Kyuhyun raised his hand and lightly traced the older man's face with the tips of his fingers, from Kijoon's temple to his lips, as if convincing himself that he wasn't dreaming. His face gradually took a rosier colour and he never looked lovelier in Kijoon's eyes. "I love you," he confessed in a quiet whisper.

 

"And I you," Kijoon replied before he could swallow his own words, but even after he had said them, his felt more tongue-tied than ever. "I.. I don't know how to say it properly, nor do I know how to... Just—you're my king and that's–" His voice got caught, but he pushed through with one last sentence. "You have been the king of my heart for the longest time."

 

"Have I...?"

 

"Yes. Yes, you have. You are. Will always be."

 

"Even though..." In a flash, sorrow took over the merriment on Kyuhyun's face. "I'm broken?"

 

Realisation struck him.

 

His dear Kyuhyun who had charmed him from their first meeting, back when Kyuhyun was just a little prince. Honest, fearless Kyuhyun who had never held back from his feelings. Who should never have to look so timid and uncertain about how much he was worth.

 

"You're not broken," Kijoon said quickly, vehemently. "No one can break you. You might bend but you will stand tall again."

 

Kyuhyun remained silent, so Kijoon continued, "Then tell me how. Tell me how to make you believe it and I will do anything. You can ask me to give you my everything..." The man paused to reach out to the side of Kyuhyun's face, gently cupping his cheek with one hand. He could feel Kyuhyun melting into his touch. "But everything I have, Your Majesty, _Kyuhyun_ , you already own."

 

Kyuhyun closed his eyes, slowly taking in his vows. When he opened them again, he was smiling. Sincere and radiant this time around.

 

"All I want is your love."

 

"And I told you," Kijoon bent forward for yet another kiss, breathing his next words right into Kyuhyun's parted lips. "It's already yours."

 

 

-

 

 

“Name your wish,” Publae declared, emotion brimming in his voice. “Name anything you want and you shall have it.”

 

Kijoon grimaced as he stepped out of the royal chamber, closing the door behind him without a sound. “Please, don’t let him hear you talking like that,” he warned with a sigh, “or he’ll misunderstand.”

 

Publae nodded, still grinning. “Is he asleep?”

 

“Yes,” Kijoon replied, glancing at the closed door with such tenderness in his eyes that Publae almost had to look away in discomfort. He _knew_ of course; practically everyone in the castle did—but at this stage, he really couldn’t care less about scandals or propriety. As long as Kyuhyun recovered some of his old cheerfulness, Publae would agree to _anything._

 

“Good, we’ll have time for a little talk.”

 

They headed for the garden, quietly enchanting in its autumn raiment. Publae couldn’t remember the last time he had felt so happy. Today, for the first time since the incident, the king had successfully concluded his morning council. Publae had been present, repeatedly blinking back tears throughout the session as Kyuhyun slowly and patiently attended to matters which had long since become neglected while he had been indisposed.

 

Nevertheless, the activity had clearly taken a toll on the king’s still recovering body. He had left the meeting pale and exhausted, after which Publae quickly suggested a brief repose for the rest of the afternoon. Kyuhyun agreed and retired to his chamber for a little nap after a quick dinner.

 

It was a long, difficult process. Publae never deluded himself with too much optimism. What had happened to Kyuhyun would forever leave a scar in the young king’s mind and soul, but recovery was, at least, not impossible. With endless patience, courage and, most importantly, love, they had finally achieved some progress—and Publae watched, heart overflowing with joy, as the smile gradually returned to his king’s face.

 

And he knew that none of these would have been possible without this man walking next to him.

 

“I want to thank you,” he began slowly, too much emotion turning his eloquence into formality, “for everything you have done. For the king and for England.”

 

Kijoon shot him a strange look. “Have you taken too much wine so early in the day?”

 

“I’m in earnest,” Publae insisted, his tone serious. “You were the only person in the entire world who could do what you did.”

 

A wry smile came to Kijoon’s lips. “You know very well that it’s not my sole doing.”

 

Publae waved a hand. “The fact remains that you did your duty when we needed it the most.”

 

Kijoon was silent for a few moments, staring at a plot of shrubberies to his right. “It was not duty,” he said at last. “At least for me it wasn’t.”

 

Publae hid a smile and kept his voice neutral. “So you’re definitely staying?”

 

“Yes.” The answer came without hesitation. “I cannot leave him. I _will_ not.”

 

“Won’t you miss the forest?”

 

Kijoon walked a few paces ahead in complete silence before finally answering, “We all have our sacrifices to make.”

 

Publae said nothing. He would be lying if he said that he wasn’t relieved. If Kyuhyun had favoured Kijoon before, now he positively could not function without him. This extent of emotional dependence made Publae feel uneasy sometimes, but for the time being, he chose to keep his misgivings silent.

 

One step at a time; that was the only way.

 

“In that case,” he spoke again, “I suppose it will be safe to go forward with the plan.”

 

Kijoon looked at him inquiringly. “What plan?”

 

“Oh, His Majesty hasn’t told you?” Publae grinned. “Why, your knighting ceremony, of course.”

 

 

-

 

 

“I still don’t understand why this is necessary.”

 

Gunmyung, who was watching him from where he was stationed behind the great door, grinned. “Isn’t it clear enough? We have to be able to explain your constant presence within His Majesty’s closest circle. Without a formal title, it will be difficult.”

 

Kijoon sighed. He hated this kind of thing the most. Back in the days, when he had been a young, impetuous soul hungering for recognition, it might have mattered. Now, the heavy chainmail weighing down his shoulders felt more like a burden—even more so with the formal knightly attire he had to don for the occasion.

 

“Why the reluctance?” Gunmyung suddenly asked. “You already went through the same ceremony with King Richard before.”

 

“My point precisely. There is no need for a second accolade. Whoever has heard of anyone being knighted _twice_?”

 

A twinkle came to the other man’s eyes. “Will you hate me very much if I say that the reason why you’re doing this twice is because you are special?”

 

Kijoon rolled his eyes. “If you are not going to give me a serious answer–”

 

“But it’s the truth,” Gunmyung chuckled. “Of course the official reason is quite different, very proper and all. For all intent and purposes, Robin of Loxley died in prison, so technically Robin Hood is not a knight. Today, he will become one.”

 

“And the unofficial reason?”

 

Gunmyung flashed him another grin. “Unofficially, I think His Majesty only wants to claim you for himself. You belong to him. Not to his father. Not to his kingdom. To _him_.”

 

“Indeed,” Kijoon muttered wryly. In all honesty, he had very little choice on the matter. One look from Kyuhyun’s large, pleading eyes and he found himself agreeing to anything the young man ever wished—a problem which he certainly had to address soon, since he was now staying for good.

 

“You are willing to do this, aren't you?” Gunmyung suddenly asked, his voice serious. “Truly?”

 

“I am,” Kijoon replied without hesitation. “It’s just… maybe I’ve been much too used to the company of freedom now. Formalities like this feel like an encumbrance. A shackle.”

 

The other man was silent for a few moments. When he spoke again, he sounded strangely subdued. “Today is the happiest I’ve seen him in a long time.”

 

Kijoon said nothing, feigning occupation in straightening his embroidered tunic. He _did_ know that. How he felt about this knowledge, however, was a different matter entirely.

 

“In fact,” Gunmyung continued, “His Majesty looks even more radiant than a blushing bride on her wedding day.”

 

At this, Kijoon gave him such a look that Gunmyung laughed out loud. A pair of guards at the other side of the hall turned around to stare at them.

 

“Don’t jest about such things.”

 

Gunmyung raised both of his hands in reconciliation. “My point is, I’m glad you agreed to do this.”

 

Kijoon’s only response was a snort; but later, when his name was called and he walked each sombre step under the eyes of the court, toward the only person for whom he would burn every bridge and destroy every rule, he realised that he had no regret. And when he finally knelt in front of Kyuhyun, the king’s sword resting on his shoulder to set their union in stone, he knew with absolute certainty that this was right.

 

He belonged to Kyuhyun; not to the throne, not to England— _only_ to Kyuhyun.

 

The king of his heart.

 

 

_**END** _

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

**Side Story: Uhm Kijoon**

 

 

He was England's knight. He devoted his life to serve the kingdom, the king, and his family. Since early age, he had trained hard to become a knight, and his hard work eventually paid off. He was knighted by His Majesty himself at the age of seventeen. He mostly served his duty in battlefields, often far from home.

On rare occasions when he had some time off to be back home, he loved to walk to a hilltop where he could see the panoramic view of the castle and its surrounding.

That one spring day was one of those days, and what a surprise when he found that someone was already there.

It was the Crown Prince, sitting by himself under an oak tree, holding a flower while plucking the petals one by one.

 

“He loves me… he loves me not… he loves me… he loves me..not..?”

He approached the prince from behind and asked, “Who is this ‘he’ that Your Highness is referring to?”

“My father,” the prince answered without looking up even once.

“As a prince, you shouldn’t be so careless and talk to strangers so freely. Haven’t you learned anything from your past experiences?”

Prince Kyuhyun turn around and stared at him from head to toe. “I know you. You’re one of my father’s knights, the one famous for being good with both blade and bow.”

“I don’t know about being famous, but yes, I am one of His Majesty's knights.”

“You have to teach me archery!” the prince suddenly exclaimed, jumping to his feet in excitement.

Kijoon frowned. “I am certain there are already many skilled instructors, far more capable than I am, to teach Your Highness everything.”

“But I want you. After all, one must learn from the best to be the best," the prince stated, picking up his few belongings (a book and a quill) from where they lay on the ground. "Therefore I will see you tomorrow. Right here at noon. Bye!” Without waiting for his response, the Prince started running back to the castle, leaving a flabbergasted Kijoon.

“Brat!” he muttered under his breath, already foreseeing many complications from this new development.

 

Nonetheless, the next day Kijoon came to the same tree and found the little prince waiting there with a little bow and a few blunted arrows of his own.

 

"Now teach me," he commanded. Kijoon had to refrain himself from making a face.

To his surprise, however, Kyuhyun was actually a good student. The problem was, this enthusiasm only lasted for the first two lesson. On their third meeting, he didn’t even bring his bow. When Kijoon asked him about it, the prince just shrugged. He took Kijoon’s hand instead and dragged him to the flower field.

 

The little prince sat down among the flowers and picked one to play with it. Kijoon, torn between duty and annoyance, couldn't help but notice the troubled look on the prince's face. Before he had the chance to ask, however, Kyuhyun had spoken first.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Of course you can, Your Highness.”

“Is it true that a knight would give his life to the king, to protect the king?

“It is true.”

“Then," Kyuhyun raised his eyes, meeting his gaze, "you are willing to die to protect my father?”

“If by giving my life I can protect His Majesty, then yes.”

“Why?”

“Because His Majesty is my king, who has my allegiance, whom I have vowed to serve to the last drop of my blood.”

Silence came after that. It was a while before the prince hesitantly broke it with another question. “When I become king one day, will you do the same?”

Kijoon smiled and answered. “If you are a worthy king, then yes, I will."

The prince stood up and lifted his chin. “I certainly will. I am Kyuhyun, the prince of England! I will become a great man and a great king!”

Any other time, for any other boy, Kijoon would have only laughed. Now, in front of this boy, he knelt down and heard these words coming from his mouth, "Then your humble servant will do everything in his power to serve and protect you, Highness. Until you become the greatest king in the land.”

 

The fierce look on the little prince's face bloomed into the brightest smile, as beautiful as the flower he then gave to Kijoon.

 

"I shall hold you to your word, sir knight."

 

_The next day, he left for the Holy Land. He never saw the prince again—until years and years later, when the forest brought them together once more and gave him a chance to fulfill his oath._

_"I am Kyuhyun, the prince of England!"_

 

 

 

BONUS

 

* * *

 

 


	4. Side Story: Lifeline

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little more fluff orz This took place before Publae talked to Kijoon about the knighting ceremony.  
> 

“Tired?”

 

Kyuhyun blinked open an eye, lips curving into a faint smile as Kijoon stepped into his chamber.

 

“Where were you? I thought you’d join me for dinner.”

 

“Attending to my horse,” Kijoon replied with a sigh, taking an empty chair next to the bed. “I’ve neglected him for far too long. How do you feel?”

 

“Sleepy,” Kyuhyun carefully chose the most harmless answer. That it did not fool Kijoon at all was soon evident. The lines around the older man’s mouth tightened, but he only reached for Kyuhyun’s hand, cradling it between his calloused fingers.

 

“Gunmyung told me that you hadn’t left the audience chamber all morning,” he said quietly, affection softening his eyes. “Actually I wanted to scold you for not taking it slowly, but the truth is, I’m really proud of you, Majesty.”

 

Kyuhyun flushed, pleased, happiness spreading warmth down to the tips of his fingers as the praise echoed in his head. It was astonishing how a simple touch from Kijoon already made him feel better, calmer, the ache in his head easing into faint, occasional throbs that barely skimmed the surface of his consciousness.

 

 _I thought you were gone_ , Kyuhyun thought silently, recalling the distressed panic he had endured throughout dinner. It had been his first meal alone without Kijoon’s company, and every mouthful had tasted like sawdust. Until that moment, Kyuhyun had not realised just exactly how frightened he was of losing this man.

 

Then he looked up and saw the odd look on Kijoon’s face—and realised that he had probably said it out loud

 

“Did you really think that?”

 

“I’m sorry.” Kyuhyun swallowed, lowering his eyes in guilt. “I’m stupid, aren’t I?”

 

“Yes,” Kijoon replied matter-of-factly, his voice suddenly hard. “Stupid and insecure and blind, so blind that you can’t see what’s in front of you.”

 

Kyuhyun bit his lips, bearing this chastisement in silence. He knew that he should trust Kijoon, but it was difficult when he himself found this dependence so humiliating. He was a king, the ruler of a great kingdom, a fully grown man, and yet he could not even eat, or sleep, alone. And the worst part was, he could do nothing but swallow this bitterness for he simply could _not_ function without Kijoon.

 

What a useless king he was.

 

A gentle stroke on his palm diverted his thoughts from going down ever darker paths. “Forgive me,” Kijoon said softly. “I didn’t mean to be harsh.”

 

“Not harsh.” Kyuhyun forced a weak smile on his lips. “Strict. You’ve always been strict to me, and I’m grateful for that. Because it means you care.”

 

“I do,” Kijoon said fiercely, fingers tightening around Kyuhyun's, “care so much for you.”

 

Kyuhyun closed his eyes for a moment, basking in the protective warmth flowing from their linked hands . Kijoon was not a vocal man when it came to his feelings; the fact he made the effort all the same had helped, at least, to ease some of Kyuhyun's burning shame.

 

“Hyung,” Kyuhyun heard himself whisper, “will you promise me something?”

 

“What promise?”

 

“Promise me that you won’t do anything stupid.”

 

“Like what?”

 

Kyuhyun swallowed. “Like going after Cha Seungwon.”

 

The effect of his words was immediate. Kyuhyun saw how Kijoon's expression changed, from quiet and attentive to tight with barely concealed fury. The rage had always been there, he realised with a sinking heart, bubbling underneath the gentle surface. It simply concealed itself for his sake.

 

“What he did to you–”

 

“–I can bear with your help,” Kyuhyun insisted, panic lending urgency to his tone. “But if something were to happen to you—if I _lose_ you—I will... I don't know, I think I will die.”

 

A violent emotion flickered across his face, but Kijoon remained stubbornly silent. Kyuhyun's panic grew tenfold.

 

“Hyung,” he entreated desperately, “promise me. Please. Just for this one thing. Please-”

 

“Alright,” Kijoon interrupted him brusquely. “But this is not a promise I make willingly.”

 

Relief washed over him. “I know.” Kyuhyun managed a small, grateful smile and kissed the back of Kijoon's hand, the strong digits and scraped knuckles. “I know. Thank you.”

 

Kijoon heaved a long sigh. “Get some rest,” he finally said.

 

Kyuhyun nodded. “Will you stay for a while?”

 

“You’re very clingy lately,” was the dry reply.

 

Kyuhyun looked up, suddenly anxious. “Do you mind?”

 

“Never.” Kijoon was quick to assure him, followed by a kiss to his forehead. “Do not ever think that, and I will not have you doubting me ever again or I will be very angry, is that clear?”

 

“Yes,” Kyuhyun answered happily; it was simply impossible to prevent a smile from stealing over his face now. “Then, will you sing me a song?”

 

Kijoon snorted. “Pushing your luck, aren’t you?”

 

He got an open, innocent look in return, and Kijoon laughed. “Fine, maybe this once.”

 

Kyuhyun closed his eyes, a content smile settling across his lips. Then Kijoon began to sing, his deep, rich voice resonating in the spacious chamber. Kyuhyun had always loved Kijoon's voice, loved how it effortlessly painted images in his mind, this time of a faraway land free of trouble and care. The fingers that came to rest on top of his head were now stroking gently, lulling him deeper into sleep.

 

This, here, he knew he was safe, and he soon fell into a peaceful slumber.

 

 

_**End** _

 


End file.
